


Journey To The Past

by Iiteru (orphan_account)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Anastasia AU, Assassination, Gen, I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this or leave it as just this, Implied Death, Lost Prince AU, Prince! Donghyuck, Royalty AU, can assassination even be implied, implied assassination, may or may not continue this story, modern day anastasia, music box, nobody asked for this, prince AU, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Iiteru
Summary: There were more gunshots. There was a hand on his own— A gloved, thin hand. There was more running, running through the snow. There was a fire, a fire that took over the building behind him as they ran. And suddenly, the hand wasn’t there any more. There were more screams… There were train tracks… There were people, so many people, pushing and shoving. The sight was distorted and, suddenly, there was only the cold; The metallic sound of a crown hitting metal, the tracks, and the wetness of the snow as it seeped into clothing invasively.Then the world went black.-Or, that one blurb where I made Donghyuck into Anastasia





	Journey To The Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of the story of Anastasia Romanov, the movie rendition, Broadway rendition, the reality of the story, and my own twist to bring it into modern day. It’s my favorite story and I’m terribly in love with it. If you like the idea, please let me know! I’d be happy to continue this if this story sounds like something you might be interested in.

It was the night that nobody saw coming.

It was a night of celebration, the decoden gowns of women and the suits of men of dignity a blur as the gems on their intricately sewn gowns and sashes glimmered under the ballroom lights. Feet shod in the finest of footwear placed themselves delicately against the marble floor in practiced ease while the women twirled underneath the arms of princes with crystal eyes and way too straight teeth. 

The music was sweet, filled with euphoria, and everyone in the room was overjoyed to be celebrating the occasion. Be it false and merely for the experience of a night in the castle or genuine affections and wishes for the family, everyone there the night that the floor ran red was there for the celebration. And there, at the very front of the room, was where the royal family were to sit, the hosts of the extravagant event. 

The youngest son sat at his throne, no older than eight. His crown lay crooked atop his head and he slouched in his chair, leg drooped over the edge of the furniture where it most certainly did not belong as he watched them loll across the dancefloor. His eyes followed them lazily, mesmerized by the way that they glided and sashayed without so much as a care in the world, smiles brighter than the sun and laughter sweeter than the tartest treat. 

His eyes drifted to his sisters, all four of them, dressed in their best. They twirled to the music that echoed throughout the entire ballroom, dresses of silken gold moving effortlessly as they joined up with men of class with plastic smiles and polite bows. The tiaras on their heads marked them his family, the stars of the show for the night. They looked beautiful, though he would never tell them he thought so. The oldest of the four caught his eye as she twirled around and she flashed him a genuine smile from across the large hall, a quick wave sent his way before she was whirled around by a man that looked the age of their father. He frowned and blew up at the bangs that fell over his eyes with a soft huff.

It was a celebration for their family, the dynasty having hit a monumental four hundred years of consecutive rule. At the mere age of eight, perhaps he didn’t understand how much that number really meant. And, as his father’s only son and sole heir, that _he_ would be the one to lead them forward into another century of successful monarchy. 

“Donghyuck,” Warned a voice from beside him. “Princes don’t sit like that. Come on now, darling. You wouldn’t want to ruin your suit, would you?”

She was none other than his mother, queen of the country. She looked just as regal as the rest of them, tall, lean, and dressed up with more gems than one could ever think possible without seeing it for themself. She was the most beautiful on the dance floor that night, and perhaps that was how it always had been, her headdress adorn with more diamonds than any mine could dig up. 

“Doesn’t matter to me.” The boy pouted. He didn’t look to her. Instead, he let his eyes follow the blur of the dancers and their cheerful dance. He saw his oldest sister once more, long hair tied back with a ribbon that waved through the air as the man twirled her around effortlessly. The pout on his lips deepened. 

“Donghyuck, dear…” She sighed. A gloved hand cupped his cheek as she tried to gain his attention. It felt cold against his skin, and, reluctantly, his eyes flickered up to match hers. “Tonight is very important for our family.”

Donghyuck raised his hand and gently tugged her hand away. “Mother, I don’t want to be here. I want to go to the balcony to look at the stars.”

“Well…Donghyuck, dear, it’s snowing?”

“I’ll stay inside, then. The observatory.” 

“Perhaps after we finish you can go?”

The young prince whined and sat up. “But I want to go now! Why can’t I? Do I really have to sit here and just watch? You know I can’t dance!”

“We’ve taught you, love. I can assure you, you know how to dance.”

Donghyuck pouted at his mother and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to, though.”

The queen frowned right back, the diamonds sparkling cheerfully a contradiction to her stiff expression. As she opened her mouth to speak, a hand slid onto her shoulder gently, another smooth voice kissing the air. 

“Eunae, he’s just a boy.” 

It was another woman, this one twice the age of his mother. Her hair was a soft silver and her eyes were warm with the wear of many years of compassion. A diamond tiara sat neatly atop her head, much smaller than that of his mother, but brilliant nonetheless. Her gloves went up to the bends in her elbows, white, sleek, and elegant, and one arm was situated behind her back. His mother turned to her and sighed softly, voice hushed so as if to speak quiet enough that her son wouldn’t be able to hear. “He never listens to me, mother.”

“Let me talk to him.” Was all his grandmother said. 

Donghyuck’s mother held her eye for a moment before she looked back at her son, the regal mess he was. Donghyuck looked back, big eyes round and begging, lips pouted, and eyebrows narrow. With one final glance at her mother, she nodded and then glided off, heels clicking against the marble as her long dress billowed out after her.

Donghyuck wriggled in his seat and looked up at the woman that remained, huffing to himself. “I don’t get it, grandma. Why can’t I just… Have time to myself?”

“Ah, well…” His grandmother stepped in front of the throne and crouched down to his eye level. Gently, she adjusted the tiny golden crown he wore back into place. “I suppose that’s what it’s like to be a royal.”

“But you get to go off on adventures all the time!” Donghyuck whined. “You travel across the world...You go to Paris every year.” 

“And every year, I come back.” She reminded him. 

The young prince nodded. “Every year you come back. And every year you tell me all about the adventures you went on. And, every year, I wish I was there with you.”

A sweet, thoughtful smile tugged on the woman’s lips and her eyes, soft with affection, seemed to spark to life in that moment. “Donghyuck, my love,” She whispered as she, too, cupped his cheek. He let her and leaned his head into her hand. “I have a surprise for you.” 

The prince’s eyes lit up immediately and a smile blossomed on his face. “A surprise?”

“Yes, a surprise. A very special one, in fact.” She nodded. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Donghyuck quickly complied. He squeezed his eyes shut and sat up straight, hands spread out in front of him to catch whatever it was her surprise for him was. He waited, the suspense of the gift killing him as his mind raced with all of the possibilities of what her gift for him could POSSIBLY be. A medallion? Candy? Oh, what was it? Was this what was behind her back the entire time? Then he felt it. She carefully placed it into his hands, the metal of the gift cool to the touch as he opened his eyes. 

There in his hands was a small box, golden and engraved with elegant designs that interlocked and crossed over one another. It was heavy, but not terribly so. It was the type of weight that something of value would have to set it apart from cheap alternatives. It felt expensive, as did everything else in his life. 

“Wow…” He marveled. He turned it over in his hands, eyes drinking in every crack, crevice, and intricate detail on the small box. “What is it?”

“Here,” Spoke his grandmother. She slipped a small necklace off of her neck that Donghyuck hadn’t even noticed she’d been wearing and handed it to him. Carefully, he took it, flipping the emerald pendant over. There was something written on it. 

He squinted as he read out loud, thumbing the engraving as he spoke, “Together in Paris.”  
He gasped and covered his mouth excitedly with a hand. “Really?!”

She nodded, smiling fondly at him as she squeezed his shoulders. “Anything for you, my sweet prince. This music box will serve as a promise to you from me that we will go together one day. Alright?”

Donghyuck smiled brightly and nodded the entire time she spoke, blurting out “Yes, yes, of course!” as he leaned forward and pulled her into a big hug. She chuckled softly into the hug and returned it warmly. He swore she held on a little bit tighter than she should’ve, as if she were holding onto the moment so as not to reduce it into a memory. Neither of them would know it would be the last time they’d hold one another. 

“What song does it play?” He asked as they broke apart. 

“Ah, let me show you… Here, let me see that.” 

Donghyuck returned the necklace to her, and she quickly got to work. Her elegantly long fingers took it carefully and she turned the music box over onto the back. She riddled with the pendant and stuck it into the bottom, then turned it around and wound it up. Then, magically it seemed, the box opened. 

The sweet melody that his grandmother would always sing to him growing up poured out and into his ears, and the sight of two figures dancing in the middle of the box caught his eye. They were that of his parents, leaders of the entire country. They were dressed as regally as they were that very night, his mother in a long gown and his father tall and honorable. The two painted figures were in the middle of a waltz and they twirled around as the music box tinked. His grandmother slid the necklace over and onto his neck as he admired them. 

He smiled softly to himself and mumbled, “It plays our lullaby…”

His grandmother nodded and smiled at him sweetly. “That it does…”

Then there was a gunshot.

Followed by another. 

Screams overtook the sounds of the music and, in one extended moment, the world began to stir. Everything was a blur of mangled scenes and memories, each quick to flash and tell the story. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces, but with all of the important ones present. The music box fell to the ground. There was a boy, there were hands, people, people screaming, tugging, pushing, shoving. He heard someone calling for their father and, in the moment, he wasn’t sure if it was himself that had screamed it or if someone else had. 

The disembodied voice of his grandmother yelled at him, yelled for him to hurry. There were flashes of light and the sounds of feet tapping against marble muddled by the surge of adrenaline. The fear. Oh, the fear… that’s all that there was to remember. More gunshots, more screams. The warmth of tears dripped from his cheeks as he was guided by someone down a hallway away from the ballroom. The chaos echoed in the background as more gunshots erupted. Glass shattered, women screamed. A man, a man who sounded just like his father, yelled out his name. He almost stopped as he was pushed along, but he couldn’t do anything. He yelled back but he got no response. 

Fire roared and sweltered inside of the castle behind him. He was pushed down, pushed into a room, pushed somewhere that he couldn’t see...Then they fired again. 

There were more gunshots. 

There was a hand on his own. A gloved, thin hand. They were outside. There was more running, there was snow...And suddenly, the hand wasn’t there any more. There were more screams...There were train tracks...There were people, so many people, pushing and shoving. The sight was distorted and, suddenly, there was only cold. The metallic sound of a crown hitting metal, the tracks, and the wetness of the snow as it seeped into clothing invasively. 

Then the world went black.

* * *

He woke up in his bed abruptly and shot up, breathless. He panted, mouth open and forehead slick with sweat. His hand shot to the necklace that dangled from his neck loosely instinctively. It was the same necklace from his dream, the necklace that he’d had as long as he could remember. He thumbed over it as he swallowed and looked over to the glass sliding doors that led to the balcony of the small place. 

The city was out the window, the stray lights of brave souls staying up glimmering in the distance. It was quiet and grey, the sky a soft purple distorted with the light pollution of city life. There were no dancers, no music boxes, and most certainly no fear. There were no gunshots, no screams… There was no mysterious woman he’d never seen before. There were no royal parties, musicians, no fear. He felt at his head; No crown. He felt at his chest and legs; No suit. No uniform. Nothing. He hadn’t been shot. His head… He wasn’t injured. He was just fine. Nothing was wrong. He was safe, warm in his bed in the middle of the city.

It was just the nightmare again. The same nightmare he’d had ever since he was little. The nightmare that got more detailed every time it came to him, his mind seeming to fabricate ways to make the tale even more terrifying each time. 

“Jesus…” He whispered into the silence. 

He combed his fingers through his hair and exhaled shakily. Though he was in no immediate danger, though he was safe at home in his bed, protected, loved… There was something about the dream he couldn’t place. Something about it that filled him with terror as if he himself had lived through the trauma. Like he was remembering something from his past that he was unable to comprehend with anything other than fragmented recollection in his dreams. His dreams, the only times where his mind was free to expose all of its well-kept secrets. With another swallow, he closed his eyes. 

He waited a little bit longer to calm down before he fell back onto the bed, hand tight around the necklace as he drifted off once more into what he hoped would be a dream much, much different. One that wasn’t filled with death, tinkling melodies, and mysterious women wearing crowns.


End file.
